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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983081">if you wanna love me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochibun/pseuds/mochibun'>mochibun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>cause people have not been kind to me [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda &amp; Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>For Want of a Nail, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Link (Legend of Zelda), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snippets, Women Being Awesome, it's my comfort character and i get to talk about him, or - Freeform, time is nonbinary. yeah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochibun/pseuds/mochibun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>His name is Link, and he's physically 30-something years old but mentally something more when he thinks that there's something not right. Well. Waking up with Malon next to him is right. Holding a rake instead of a sword in his hand is right. Submitting the taxes and circling</em> male... <em>isn't.</em></p><p>Maybe there's still enough time to discover something new about himself, Time finds out, even if he's growing older. (A series of interconnected snippets about Time and the trials, tribulations, and tax forms of gender exploration.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Four &amp; Hyrule &amp; Legend &amp; Sky &amp; Time &amp; Twilight &amp; Warriors &amp; Wild &amp; Wind (Linked Universe), Hyrule &amp; Time (Linked Universe), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>cause people have not been kind to me [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. taxes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i like time and i think no matter your age or your experience you're always allowed to question your identity and that's still valid</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His name is Link, and he's physically 30-something years old but mentally something more when he thinks that there's something not right. Well. Waking up with Malon next to him is right. Holding a rake instead of a sword in his hand is right. Submitting the taxes and circling <em> male</em>... isn't.</p><p>There has always been this small sense of something not sitting right, but there's been more important matters to tend to before that. Link has always occupied his thoughts and self by keeping busy—it's the only way the intrusive thoughts don't come in. But now it's beginning to make him panic, this feeling; it grips at his throat and makes him too aware of his body.</p><p>He keeps on staring in the mirror. His body looks right. It is right for him, he knows that, deku-mask scars imprinted on his chin and the newly-burned scars in his face. That isn't the problem. This body is right for him, he knows that. If only he could convince his stupid mind that, too.</p><p>One day when he's staring in the mirror, Malon wraps her arms around him and Link lets his head fall back on her shoulder with a sigh. "What's wrong," she asks, and Link tells her because why not? Their marriage is based upon their friendship, their honesty; Malon is Link's best friend above all else and he's not sure if he can trust himself if he can't trust her.</p><p>"I don't feel—right. I just don't know," and he tells her about the tax forms and how circling the <em>male</em> option just doesn't seem <em>right.</em> Malon presses her lips but holds onto him still, tethering him to the earth so he doesn't float away. They sway there, for a moment, just in front of that mirror. Just being them.</p><p>Finally, Malon says, "Well, maybe you should leave the taxes to me, fairy—" and here she hesitates, but finally says, "—fairy kid." Admittedly, it doesn't roll off the tongue like <em> fairy boy </em> does, but. But.</p><p>Something in Link's stomach settles at that, makes him feel more right even if he still can't tell what it is. Link nods and turns so he's in her arms, face pressed into her neck. <em> Thank you, </em> he mouths, and Malon grins.</p><p>"Any time, fairy kid."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. names</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw for the use of “queer” as in queer theory but that’s it. i hope y’all r havin a good day! ^_^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“There’s,” Hyrule hesitates, furrowing his brows. “There’s a word for this. I know what it is, Dawn and ‘Roura have told me this before.” He bends down, rifling through that satchel of his as Link—<em>Time</em> worries his bottom lip. His name is strange, new, fitting but not quite. It’s not the title that he would have given himself if he knew how he’d go down in history.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But time… it’s a construct, isn’t it? Something imaginary. If he tries to imagine it, his mind comes up blank—beyond hours and minutes and seconds, there’s no right definition for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t be a comforting thought, that lack of something. For some reason, it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha! Here it is—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hylian Queer Theory,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hyrule says, hefting a book out from his satchel. The cover looks worn, brown leather faded and worn to the point where it’s beginning to fall apart at the edges. At Time’s questioning look, he explains, “It’s from at least a couple of centuries ago from ‘Roura’s time, but her magic preserved it well enough.” Time supposes magic is a pretty convenient explanation for most things, now that he thinks about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Hyrule looks through the pages before settling on one in particular. “Nonbinary,” he reads out loud. “That’s what it sounds like you’re feeling. Nonbinary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonbinary?” he repeats out loud. The syllables feel strange on his tongue, at first harsh, but then soft. “What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just means you’re not a part of the binary. You’re not, well,” here he waves a hand in the air, “a dude or a gal. So you’re not. You’re lacking that kind of, um, like… not exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>equipment,</span>
  </em>
  <span> ‘specially, you know,” his hand motions to his pants, “and trust me, I’d know ‘cause I’m not exactly equipped in that department either. But—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Hyrule’s fumbling, though, his explanation is startlingly clear. Too clear, maybe, too well-fitting. It slots itself into the grooves of his armor, into the crevices of his equipment, into the aching in his chest. “I think I get it,” Time says. It’s soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyrule smiles. “I’m glad, then.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>trans hyrule agenda</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. clothes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw for mentioned starvation (bc of limited supplies on the hero’s journey + lack of self care)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Yuggh,” Legend says. Er, it’s approximately what he says. Time isn’t exactly sure if the guttural noise he lets out can be quantified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You good there, kid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Legend says. “I’m not. I feel all confused and stuff,” and here he wrinkles his nose, “since like, you know how I wear a skirt, right? And it’s really, really nice. But now I’m wondering, like, does that make me a girl?” He stares at himself, picking at the stray threads of crimson red at the edge of his tunic. It’s well cared for, Time can see that much—matching red thread has lovingly patched the tears that have sheared through the fabric from monsters and men alike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s how it works, Legend,” Time says gently. Some small part of him gets it. Once, he’d put on his then-not wife’s skirt. It’d hung over his too-thin frame, low on his bony hips, back before someone had beat it into his head that Hylians did, in fact, need to eat every once in a while.</span>
</p>
<p>“Yeah? But then—I just. I don’t get it. Well. Okay, I kind of get it, since I know that I like wearing skirts, but am I supposed to feel like a girl when I wear a skirt? What’s being a girl supposed to feel like anyway?” </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t have an answer for that; all he can offer is a shrug of his shoulders, steady as can be. “I don’t know,” he says, honest. “But do you want to… try? Being a girl, I mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mystified, Legend stares—first at himself, then at Time. “You can do that?” he says. “You can… try? And it doesn’t—it doesn’t need to stick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Time is reminded of just how painfully </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span> Legend is, how the hero’s eyes are all soft in the way that heroes never </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be. That’s the price of all the choices they make: they’re permanent. They stick. If they’re the wrong answer, then the consequences splash themselves across their skin in pitted and torn asunder flesh and dripping red blood that feels like fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Time says slowly. A part of him wonders if this is truly what he believes, if this is really something that people get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is what he’s saying for Legend or is it for him? “No, it doesn’t need to stick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Legend stares at him, mouth opened in a perfect </span>
  <em>
    <span>o.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—I want to think about it,” Legend says at last. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll… try, in the future, I think. But for now, I’ll stick to being a boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Skirt or no skirt,” Time says, “you’re still whatever you want to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Legend chokes out, voice gruff. And thick. Are those </span>
  <em>
    <span>tears?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, there’s no need to cry—come here,” he says, opening his arms up. Legend nearly collapses in them, and Time burrows his nose into Legend’s pink hair, taking comfort in his wiry frame and the baby fat that’s yet to completely disappear from his face. He’s lean but he’s not starving, not dying, but wholly warm and alive in Time’s hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if the </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes to </span>
  <em>
    <span>she,</span>
  </em>
  <span> then the principle will still stay the same, no matter what.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>clothes having no assigned gender and therefore not belonging to any one binary and clothes being used to affirm the gender identities of people through their appearance are two statements that can and should co exist. also just adding on that this isn’t a like, catchall for how ppl experience gender, but this is my experience with it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: nothing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He has a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t fairly unusual, by most standards. Time has dreams a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of times. Most of them involve sneering giants and falling moons, which he figures is probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> par for the course, but then again, most people aren’t destiny-chosen heroes either. So it probably balances out, he guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not this dream, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure what it was. The dream was warm, he remembers, hazy and fragmented like the shattered wings of a butterfly. Someone was calling for him, beckoning him to an empty space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The space, Time remembers, had cold stone floors. The chill had pricked at his bare feet, small as they were, and the ceiling had arched over him overhead. Columns had held the roof up as sunlight trickled in from the stained-glass windows. For all the interior, for all the empty space inside had been so blisteringly </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>—the sunlight had made shapes on the floor, he remembers. It’d been mesmerizing, standing in the multicolored sun, basking in its gentle warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light had called to him, he remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Link. Wake up, Link.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d not been the only voice. There was another light, too, offered up like a star fluttering in the vast empty space.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up, silly,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the light had chided him. And then, like they were speaking to the sunlight, had asked, </span>
  <em>
    <span>will they wake up?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sunlight had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They did tend to have the habit of sleeping in, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the dream fades away, then, the blistering cold floor on his too-small feet and the warm sunlight, dancing through the stained glass windows. It slips through his fingers like sand, then he blinks and then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s awake, he thinks distantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something cold slides down his cheek. He raises his hand to it; where’s it coming from? It’s on the left side of his face. His fingers come away wet, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Time thinks, with a sort of hazy grip on the manic that threatens to take him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m crying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The worst part is, he’s not even sure why, but all there is within him is an empty, hazy sort of space, the colors washed out with time as </span>
  <em>
    <span>he-hims</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they-thems</span>
  </em>
  <span> bounce around like little stars before inevitably flickering out like a flame.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>whoops. anwyay happy 2020 guys see you next year!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. makeup</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: none</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Makeup,” Warriors proclaims, “is the solution to all of your problems.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From his perch on the log they’ve propped up around the campfire, so they’ll have some place to sit that’s not on the still rain-damp soul, Wild squints. “You mean, like, to cover up my scars? Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re saying? Because let me tell you, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sooo</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the problem I have with my appearance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses. “Well, not the problem I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>referring</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their group has stopped for the night in Four’s Hyrule, a lovely little place that has surprisingly few nasty things looking to bite their skin off. Accordingly, their group is much more lax tonight, and somehow tonight’s conversation landed on… makeup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aryll did </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> makeup once,” Wind volunteers from beside Legend. “It kind of tickled, to be honest. Not sure if I liked it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t like it because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>tickled</span>
  </em>
  <span> or because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>makeup?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tickled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Duh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Couldn’t even scratch my nose without messing up Aryll’s handiwork, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> it didn’t feel good on my skin—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—</span>
  <em>
    <span>anyways,</span>
  </em>
  <span> can I have your makeup, Wars?” Wild interrupts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Warriors and Wild exchange the makeup over the campfire, the light catches on the glass bottles of the skin-colored stuff; Time watches it flicker, the glass glowing with a rainbow discoloration for a brief second, before Wild’s hand enclosed around it. For the strangest second, his heart beats wildly, a sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> that makes him feel stupid with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes no sense. Time hasn’t even expressed any kind of interest in makeup, not even when Malon was doing it. So why </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should look away from this, he thinks, watching Wild unscrew the cap. It feels intimate. Strange. New. All bad things, in his learned experience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly from the corner of his eye, he sees Twilight shoot out of his seat, heading straight for Wild, who stops unscrewing the bottle out of surprise. They talk for a moment, a hushed, whispered conversation that Time only catches in brief snatches, before Twilight peels away to go back to his seat. Wild turns his head—amber earrings catching the firelight of the campfire—and stares straight at Time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embarrassed to be caught, Time jerks his head away, but Wild has already gotten out of his seat. “Hey, Time,” he says, sounding strangely cheery, “so actually, since it’s been, like, 100 years since I’ve done my makeup, I was wondering if like, I could test it out on you, y’know—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A strange feeling washes over Time. It leaves something in him feeling warm, one that’s got entirely nothing to do with the burning fire in the center of their camp. “On—on me?” He manages to get out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wild gives a nod. “Yeah, can I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. I—sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cook beams, perches himself next to Time, and finishes unscrewing the bottle lid. “Okay, so fair warning, Wind was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> joking when he says this stuff feels weird sometimes. But! It’s honestly not </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Wild does his makeup—a thrill shoots through him—he avoids the markings on Time’s face, the faint scars he’s gotten from random incidents and nicks in the rush of battle. It feels strange, weird, intimate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All good things, in this new experience.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you didn’t catch it—twilight is the one who tells wild to do time’s makeup. he noticed time looking and asked wild if he minded doing time’s makeup before he did his own.</p>
<p>wild originally asked about makeup because of some lingering insecurity about how he looks. not so much the scars—as wild says, that’s an entirely different problem—but more so he wants the makeup for affirmation reasons</p>
<p>this is based off my experience of wearing makeup. no this is not universal for everyone, but i think time might at least get some euphoria out of this experience</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. vai and voe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>these drabbles aren't necessarily in chronological order, but this one takes place after <em>clothes</em> (chapter 3). so legend is testing out she/her pronouns here at the time this drabble takes place, though she's still unsure if she wants to stick with he/him.</p>
<p>also i just realized this is just. this drabble series. its just time's gender envy. fml my life</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The saying goes that the clothing makes a man. What kind of clothes make up a woman, then, and then everything else too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s too many questions and not a lot of answers. Malon would be better at this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the same, there’s a certain kind of—Time doesn’t know what to call it—</span>
  <em>
    <span>nakedness,</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe, standing in front of the mirror even when he's dressed like he normally is. They had stopped in an inn overnight when the option had become available to them, because the boys were complaining about the hard earth making their backs ache. He might have called them spoiled except his bones were aching, too; something about Wild’s Hyrule had the dirt exceptionally packed together to the point where it was probably easier to make a dent in rock than in the soil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Located on the outskirts of the Gerudo Desert, the inn is warm, comfortable, and absolutely makes Time’s skin crawl with a foreign feeling. It’s more than how Gerudo Town has changed from the humble-but-fierce outpost it was when Nabooru ran it. Now, it’s a booming center of commerce and trade, a hubbub of clamor and vibrant colors that hail all the way from the land that Wild calls Lanayru.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyrule has grown since Time’s era.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what makes his skin crawl is this really weird throbbing </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he gets whenever he sees the silken </span>
  <em>
    <span>kaftan</span>
  </em>
  <span> skirts of the Gerudo flutter in the desert breeze. Wild says they’re going to Gerudo Town today, but he’ll have to go in first to get everyone “special clothes” barring Wind. (Wind had complained up until Wild had shown him what, exactly, these special clothes were, and afterward couldn’t stop letting out random giggles every time Wild was in his eyesight.) It makes Time mildly nervous—one, because Wild is going in alone. And two, clothes are… a strange thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be. It’s just textile and fabric. What gives them the right to make him feel like he’s been tossed over his head? Malon would know what to do. Malon would know how to make this discomfort </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nonetheless, the morning trek takes them across the sandy dunes and to the front gate of Gerudo Town. Wild makes them pause there, ushering them toward the shrine on the side of the gate as he converses with the guards in Gerudo. Time catches little snippets, here and there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sav’orq</span>
  <em>
    <span>—bringing them.... yes, I will see Riju…” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“... the child can go in… are </span>
  </em>
  <span>voe</span>
  <em>
    <span>? Are you </span>
  </em>
  <span>vai </span>
  <em>
    <span>today?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“—… the armored one?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time recognizes </span>
  <em>
    <span>sav’orq,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’ll have to ask later. Perhaps the language has evolved as well; there’s no reason as to why it would not. He pushes their group gently toward the shrine. “Let’s go, boys, Wild will be fine without us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyrule rocks a little on his feet. “Okay, but like, this is literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> cool. Did you guys see the interior through the gateway? The </span>
  <em>
    <span>architecture,</span>
  </em>
  <span> guys—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s having so much fun nerding out, isn’t he,” Sky whispers to Four, who muffles his laugh. “I mean, look at him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their conversation is interrupted by footsteps. It looks like Wild’s returned, and there’s a strange look on his face, but a small spark of joy too. “Not to interrupt,” he says, “but uh, Legend and Time, do you mind coming with me? And Wind, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure? What the hell not. “Alright, let’s go, then.” He dusts himself off and extends a hand to Legend to pull him up. “Up and at ‘em, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Legend deadpans, fixing his?—oh, no, she’s wearing her pink ring today—hat. “Okay. Let’s go then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a nervous kind of energy building in his chest as the four of them walk back to the gates of Gerudo Town. Wild’s fumbling awkwardly with the loose-fitting cotton </span>
  <em>
    <span>djellaba</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s put over his shoulders. Wind’s positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrating </span>
  </em>
  <span>as they get closer. It’s not even a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> trek, why does it seem so long anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally they stop. The guards eye their group with a discerning gaze—then one of them says, “Yeah, they should be fine. But you’re still not exempt just because you are sometimes </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hero—if you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe </span>
  </em>
  <span>today, you better not come in looking like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wild gives a sigh of relief. “That’s fine. Good—I told you they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vai?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wind says. (Or, tries to.) “What’s that mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other guard laughs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Vai</span>
  </em>
  <span> is—how do I describe it?—I’ll start with </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe that will make it easier. The closest word in your language to </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe</span>
  </em>
  <span> is man. A man is always a </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe</span>
  </em>
  <span> but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe</span>
  </em>
  <span> is not always a man—and so the same goes for </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai,</span>
  </em>
  <span> which you Hylians would call a girl, but isn’t always a girl if they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t get it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard shrugs. “It is undefinable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But like…” Wind’s mouth twists downward into a frown. “Well, like, then why isn’t Hyrule or Twilight </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai</span>
  </em>
  <span> then? For example, anyway!” he adds on quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, they are men, are they not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah—? What’s that gotta do with… </span>
  <em>
    <span>ohhhh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Okay. Now I get it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Mister Hero, here,” the guard waves a hand toward the aforementioned Wild, “is sometimes </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hero. Or is it going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Missus—”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddesses, </span>
  </em>
  <span>we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> that far yet!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—and this one, here,” and the guard waves in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> direction, “this one…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels awful. He feels—there’s a sweaty thrill racing down his spine, and he’s melting in his heavy armor, and Time hasn’t felt like this since he was a boy. “I’m… not sure,” he finally settles on, and the guard nods decisively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then he doesn’t and so he isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, unless later on he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>voe.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess it makes sense,” Wind says. “So can we go in now? Please? I’m kind of getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweaty. You’d think I’d be used to all this sand but </span>
  <em>
    <span>nooo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course the Great Sea’s different from a freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>desert…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wild laughs. “Yeah, alright, let’s go in and get the rest of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>special clothes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Legend falls to the back of their little group, falling into step with Time. “I don’t get it,” she says, sounding a little uncertain. “Am I this </span>
  <em>
    <span>vai</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing because I’m—I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In all honesty, Time doesn’t get it either. And he’s not sure if Malon would know the answer to this one, too, but looking at Legend’s hunched shoulders, some certainty rings true in his bones. This is a question he has to answer, even if he doesn’t know how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Time says—words feeling too dumb in his mouth, but he rolls the thought around in his mind—yes. Okay. Yes, that’s what he wants to say. “First of all, you’re not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re Legend, kid, and that’s not changing even if you do yourself.” He waves a hand to Legend’s whole self. “I mean, if you want to change your name to Zelda or Aryll or Linkle, I’m sure no one would mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like Link,” Legend protests, pleased flush beginning to spread from the tips of her ears downward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And second, it doesn’t matter if you understand what </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span> things mean. I’ll be honest, I don’t know either. But as long as it’s you who decides what is and what’s not, then that’s all that matters. Got it, kid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...yeah,” she mumbles. “Thanks, Time. And—” she hesitates, “you know the same thing goes for you, right? But for the record, you’re pretty smart. Maybe it’s those old person senses of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> old,” Time says, but he can’t stop smiling as they catch up to Wild and Wind anyway.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><em>djellaba</em> - a long, loose-fitting unisex outer robe with full sleeves that is worn in the Maghreb region of North Africa. A <em>kaftan</em> is a more embellished version of a <em>djellaba</em>.</p>
<p>as to why wind says hyrule and twilight as an example, it's since both of them are trans men - he's confused as to how if vai aren't always a 'girl', then why aren't hyrule and twilight seen as vai? he's not trying to misgender them or undermine their masculinity though sdfhjhsdfhs it's just the gerudo concept of gender is less focused on what is in your pants than hylian culture is, hence his confusion over the voe/vai concept encapsulating nonbinary genders into two categories rather than the spectrum wind's understood it as.</p>
<p>wild is part-gerudo in my hc but that's irrelevant but he's DEFINITELY fuck all gender and that's supremely relevant</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. embroidery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: none I think</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Four’s doing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay—there are certainly a lot of things that “thing” can refer to. But specifically, for Four, Time has noticed, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Four</span>
  </em>
  <span> it means that he’s stress-embroidering again. Usually he goes to the smithy if they’re in a town, or maybe soldering if there’s a need for it, but Four’s unique brand of anxiety-induced hobbies on the road are with a silver needle and spools of thread colored in shades of children’s chalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No less apparent is the other thing that Four does when he gets like this: he sings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, it’s just common nursery rhymes. Little snippets of cheery lullabies that children sing when they’re going in circles; Time remembers when he found out Hylians had their versions too. That if he dulled out the words, fourteen and newly smarting, he could almost pretend it was the Kokiri ululations </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>sung as a child.</span>
</p><p>Even if he had lost his grasp on Kokiri by now.</p><p>
  <span>No matter. Four is whispering rhymes, the low whistle of his voice in his chest singing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I sing of Hylia. Fucking Hylia,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and actually, maybe this is a—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—dude, is that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pub song?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Twilight says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four stops singing. Four does not stop his embroidery. “Whatever you take it as,” he says serenely, like Twilight didn’t just interrupt his extremely important ritual of stress embroidery. What’s he making, anyway? “But it’s a song I found in a pub, if that’s your question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re literally a child,” Wild says, looking forlorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They serve apple juice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are there songs about H-Hylia,” Sky butts in and sounds exactly the amount of scandalized one might expect from him, “and why are they—why do they—why are they </span>
  <em>
    <span>against Her?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, maybe it’s because </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck Hylia,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s why!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Legend raises his hand and Warriors smacks it. Time fights off the heavy urge to sigh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hopes it’s not one of those nights again, where they all talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>religion</span>
  </em>
  <span> and goddess-damned </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hylia.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As if she hasn’t controlled enough of their lives already. Time would rather cast her off like an old pair of clothes and be done with it, but it seems like that won’t be the case tonight, because Sky’s face has twisted into a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> true and don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> that against Her,” he says. “She gave us everything! Our bodies, our form, the Surface—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I thought that was Din and Nayru and Farore?” Wind whispers to no one. Time looks upward. Oh great, now their timelines have different creation myths too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—our </span>
  <em>
    <span>individualities,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re saying Hylia made me gay,” Wild adds dryly, “then I really hope she won’t send me to super hell when I die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”—so please just give Her the respect!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, woah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>woah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>back up the conversation. You’re gay?” Warriors asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, everyone stops talking—like if Four dropped his needle, one might hear it drop on the ground. A sudden tightness seizes his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am gay,” Wild says. He looks—wary, Time thinks. Wary, around the corner of his eyes and the sag of his mouth. His shoulders hunch over, too. “Bisexual, really, but.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t—oh, you didn’t think it wasn’t necessary to tell?” Warriors continues. “Seriously? I could have been—oh my god, we could have been—we could have been, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking </span>
  </em>
  <span>about—I could have been talking about my kind of boyfriend </span>
  <em>
    <span>five months ago.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wild squints. “And you swung a ‘kind of boyfriend,’” he puts it in quotation marks, “with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> mug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> that ugly. I’m literally the </span>
  <em>
    <span>opposite</span>
  </em>
  <span> of ugly.”</span>
</p><p>“And Hylia made it so,” Sky puts in his two cents, and then everyone is back at it again. </p><p>
  <span>“I’m half-Sheikah,” Warriors is insisting, “these looks are </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> genes, no holiness, no Hylia, just two chromosomes and a—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—okay I think that’s enough,” Twilight half-yelps out. “Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>stop talking!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>made</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything,” Sky is still continuing on, “I traveled back in time to when she was, or basically was, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> this because I told you my adventure when we first met so you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was doing it because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I saw it—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zelda’s body like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>last summer’s fashion,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sky, I don’t really think you’re doing yourself any favors here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> embroidering. There, an amused curl to his lips, as he takes out a cherry colored thread and sinks it into the taut fabric of the purple canvas he’s working on. If he planned this, Time thinks, minorly exasperated, he’s going to get grounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wind has scooched over on his log so he’s next to Hyrule. “I really don’t understand,” he says to the farm hand, “again, I thought Din, Nayru and Farore created everything. Hylia isn’t even like an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> where I come from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughtfully, Hyrule says, “Well I don’t even have any goddesses at all, so that’s probably fair. I think we all just lose some things as history goes on, and for other timelines, we change some things too. Like, I know that pub song, like that </span>
  <em>
    <span>melody,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it’s like—” he clears his throat, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I sing the monarchy, fucking monarchy! Soon may their due come, fry ‘em under the fucking su-u-un—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Legend falls off of Warriors’ shoulders. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> around in your world, ‘Rule?”</span>
</p><p>“Well it’s not like we have much else,” Hyrule shrugs. “Like, when do we need to recite the mythology of Hyrule’s monarchy when who knows when we’ll get food on the table next? But we’ll take what we can.”</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” a low voice says into Time’s ear, “I really didn’t think singing would make this much of a stir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t jolt. “So you didn’t mean to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Four says drolly. “But here, made this one for you.” Then he’s dropped something into Time’s hands and swept away back to his own seat before Time even knows what’s going on. He holds the fabric up to the firelight to examine it better—good quality canvas, actually this is silk, and neat stitches—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a rose. A bushel of them, really, the line of motion all curly and soft. A thrill shoots through him when he realizes what it is. Four made him a goddess damned </span>
  <em>
    <span>handkerchief.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks, Four,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he mouths across the campfire as he tucks it away safely. And that would be it up until the boys decide to debate their freaking creation myths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Religion</span>
  </em>
  <span> nights. Awful.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it’s my own personal hc that warriors is gay + content in being a very feminine man. that’s very gnc of him i think. also yeha he’s half sheikah because yknow what it’s my city now</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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